During the Calm
by Corwin Curtis
Summary: Just a little introductory story. No real purpose. Written at the barricades. Please read and review.


'The problem with an insurrection is that it goes against the object of the people. Well, not of the people as a whole, but of the individual.

The people as a whole have three objectives: Cheap bread, free books, and a happy populace.

But let us take a closer look: A young man, being young has only one objective: To live. If he is Parisian, he wishes for more than that: He wishes to live forever, if at all possible. And you cannot expect a man to die on a barricade with a carbine in his hand and a dream in his heart when he is trying to live forever.

An old man also has one objective: To spend his few remaining days in comfort. An insurrection, though it be noble, though it be beautiful, is not comfortable.

So, you see, it is simply a conflict of interests. The Parisians of 1793 simply had different dreams than those of modern day Paris.

That is not to say that the people were against this insurrection. It is possible that in the veins of every member of the Third Estate, a new energy begins to flow. In every eye, a glow becomes discernable. That is very likely to be the case. But they are ignored, unnoticeable in so miserable a life. When death is the consequence, there is not a single person who does not hesitate.

One poor man looks to another and whispers: "Long live the Republic!" But in his heart, and in his mind he shouts: "Long live myself!" A student puts on his coat, a book in one hand, a pistol in the other- Perhaps there is even a knife tucked into a pocket. He very nearly makes it out the door.

Can I, who will soon die for my beliefs blame those who have already forgotten me? No. From the time when man first walked upon this Earth, the instinct to preserve oneself has been dominant. To stay alive; That has been our goal. Conscience is a much more modern thing. Naturally, the prospect which has deeper roots will have a stronger hold upon the psyche.

I do not pretend that I throw my life away without a second thought. I grieve to know that I will soon be gone. But I go to a Heaven which cannot yet be found upon this Earth.

Why are we here?

We do more than hope, we dream. We do more than dream, we act. We die. That is not what we originally intended to do. But we shall. Because it is the only thing there is left for us to do. Because there is always a chance that what we do will inspire others to hope; to dream; to act. And perhaps those we inspire will not have to die. Perhaps they will live.

And they will be better than the Parisian of today, because they will live in a World which was better than ours.

That is my wish.'

* * *

The memo was short. Only a page, torn from a journal. It is not certain why the author wrote it down. Perhaps he was afraid to be forgotten. Perhaps he hoped that a gendarme would find it on his person after he had died. More likely, it is plausible that he had nothing better to do in the hours which can be described as the 'calm before the storm.'

The note was not found by a gendarme, but by a scavenger. One of those birds of prey which so closely resemble a poor man, and which can be found creeping in the gutters after some period of violence. The man was probably searching the corpses which lined the street for money, or valuables, when he came across it. He could not read. And so, finding it to be of no use to him, he simply threw it behind his shoulder, and went on his way.

It remained there, in the gutter, until the rain and wind swept it away, and into the sewers.

And so, what could be described as the last will and testament of a hero, was forgotten.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Well, this is my first fan fiction ever, and, to tell the truth, my first real stab at actual writing, which means that any criticism you have for me is really appreciated. I read Les Miserables about a week ago and couldn't get enough. So, naturally, I wanted to see what I could find on the Internet, and came across this site. Before I got into anything which might evolve into a serious piece of writing, I thought I'd write this tiny little thing and ask what you all thought of it. So...?

And I'm pretty sure I need some kind of **Disclaimer:** I give it all to Hugo; He's better than me anyway.

And anyone who can guess who the 'hero' was gets a cookie.

**EDIT! (7/21/08)**

Many thanks to Mjulinir for the favorites and for the encouraging review. It really picked up my spirits after a crummy day- I see we share the same favorite sentences.

Thanks also to EfP for the Private Message, you are too kind.

**EDIT! (7/22/08)**

Thanks and a miniature figurine of Valjean getting hit on the head by Javert go out to Sythar, for being overly nice and encouraging. I can't believe the response this is getting. The fact that anyone even bothered to glance at the title is putting me into cardiac arrest.


End file.
